The Mauryans
by Donna Vito Frutti
Summary: Something is brewing in Magadha. The great Acharya is missing in the capital. And even the absence of the younger prince, Asoka is stirring up a few rumours. The crown prince asks the spymasters of the Empire to glean what's in store for him before the Emperor himself hears of it. And then there is a royal secret. Knowledge of Indian and Greek history & mythology may be useful.
1. Chapter 1

#

"The pupil is ready and the master has appeared," said Gurukkal.

"Pranam, Gurudev."

Asoka touched the feet of his Kalari master and then, his life-long teacher.

Kautilya placed his arms on his pupil's shoulders and gave him a long hard look. Asoka took after his mother in appearance. And his skin was darker than that of his brothers and his father, Bindusara. Perhaps it was no wonder that the king did not hold him in high regard.

But the boy was brave and strong. The Mauryan spirit was strong in him. And he possessed the same qualities he had only seen in one other warrior.

How I wish you were alive to see this moment.

"You have grown. And you are ready. Time has come for you to fulfil your destiny."

"All thanks to you, Masters. Gurukkal, how can I repay you for your training? What _guru dakshina_ will ever be enough?"

Gurukkal considered him for a moment and replied.

"I have never collected the customary payment, Son. And having you for a student, a destined champion for Bharatvarsha...yes, I think that would be payment enough for me."

Asoka folded his hands and bowed slightly in Gurukkal's direction.

"All the same, I vow that this ancient art that you have taught me will never be lost to the mists of time. When I am king, I shall see to it personally."

"When you are king?" Kautilya asked. "Have you divined the future, Boy?"

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, Acharya, but I assume it is the reason for my intensive training."

Kautilya gave a half-smile. He was never an easy man to please. And his smiles were as rare as his temper was frequent. Although Asoka has never been at the receiving end of his master's fiery outbursts, he had seen it directed at others. It would rival that of the mythical Durvasa and Vishwamitra.

Throughout his childhood, all he had ever wanted was his master's approval. His father paid him no mind. He had his favourite son to lavish his attention on- Susima. His mother, though kind and meaning well, only wished him safety and good fortune. Away from the eventual discord that would pit brother against brother.

It was Kautilya who had noticed his worth. Who encouraged him to be better than his brothers. When he fell out of favour with his own father, it was Kautilya who had backed him up. For that, he would always be grateful.

"It is true that I would like you to be a worthy prince. But whether you will be a worthy king, or any king- that remains to be seen. There is still time, after all."

Except for him. Kautilya was under no illusion that he was not nearing the end of his life. How he had managed to hold on for so long was a mystery even to him. Even so, he swore to himself that he would find it in him to devise one final act of bravery, a daring manoeuvre, for his country before he was finished.

He owed it to Bharatvarsha. And to the Mauryan dynasty. He owed it to-

"Your grandfather was my friend," said the Gurukkal. "He was the best fighter I had ever seen. A true warrior. He had fire in his eyes when he strode into the battlefield. And in spite of all that, his heart was ever at peace- he fought only because he had to. It was not surprising then that he left the throne to his successor and took up the way of Mahavira."

Asoka thought very little of the last part of his grandfather's life. No warrior, much less a king, should abandon the duties of a kshatriya. They were born to fight and to rule. Peace and penance had very little place in their lives.

How could someone so mighty have abandoned his destiny? Asoka found that it was better to remember him as the warrior he had been than the sage he became.

"Aye," said Chanakya. "He was my finest pupil at Takshashila. The finest king I have ever known. And I have known quite a few."

"We look to you now, Asoka," said the Kalari Master. "You will be as your grandfather once was."

"No," said the determined voice. Asoka was used to hearing stories about his grandfather. To him, he was a legendary hero. Someone to be worshipped, but from afar. Often times, he despaired that he would never match the prowess of his grandfather. Other times, he simply wished something else.

"I will be greater."

#

More than a thousand miles lay ahead of them. Nearly thirty soldiers accompanied Kautilya and Asoka and twice as many horses, owing to the hospitality of the local rulers of the Keralaputra- courtesy of the Gurukkal. They moved slowly, stopping only to take rest or sleep at night. They took care to stay in inns, taking shelter in wayside shrines or temples only if there was no other way. And wherever they went, whispers of the legendary Chandragupta and that of his heir spread far and wide. Those whispers did not know the identity of the two travellers who were amongst them- Kautilya and Asoka had made themselves known only to a select few.

It was imperative that nobody from the Empire recognised them. But they saw no need to disguise themselves. In the span of seven months, they had changed in ways that would be nigh unrecognisable to anyone who knew them from before.

Their journey now took a different route. Whereas earlier, they had taken the pass between the Ghats, they now passed through the land of the Satyaputras.

The goal was to reach Siddapur before they changed their routes again. Only Kautilya knew the direction and the path they would follow. Every man in the entourage answered to him and him alone.

Asoka watched as his tutor paced in the clearing. They had removed themselves from the city the day before. Six of the soldiers had been dispatched ahead with instructions. They would return only if there was danger at hand. Else, the rest of the retinue would continue on the next day.

The horses grazed in peace as he himself practised his newfound skills. Every now and then the Acharya would either test him or teach him- Kautilya insisted on a sound mind housed within a sound body. He would display his skill with the blade and then engage in a philosophical or political discourse with him.

Kautilya had been patient with him for the most part. He would correct him on occasion but Asoka was proud of the fact that he was a quick learner. That should no doubt have earned him praise from any other tutor, but with Kautilya it simply meant that the instructions came faster- the acharya spoke nothing of his accomplishments, only of his faults. There was no time for trivialities, he insisted.

His master also spent much time in contemplation. It was rumoured that Kautilya had acquired great meditative powers through severe penance and piety. If it was true, Asoka saw very little evidence of it. His disposition was not like that of a sage or a maharishi.

But even sages were known to have natures that were contradictory to what they preached. Perhaps what one aspired to be was not the same as what one was.

The sword fell with a crash. Kautilya turned in his direction.

"You were not paying attention," said the acharya.

"It merely slipped from my hand."

Kautilya said nothing. Breathing deeply, he sat down in the shade under the tree.

"Asoka," he said, "You must focus on your training. Not many have had the opportunity to receive it. I can not be your tutor for long. My spirit is willing, yes, but my body is weak. I can not protect you forever."

"I understand," said Asoka. "Acharya, can I be of some assistance to you?"

Kautilya shook his head and then sighed.

"Listen very carefully, Son. The borders of your father's Empire is upon us. When we reach Siddapur, our retinue will split into two groups, each taking a different road back to Pataliputra. I will not accompany you in your journey home. I plan to travel through the region of Sanchi."

Asoka was surprised. His teacher had not divulged this information earlier but he was certain it had been the plan all along.

"As you wish, Acharya," he said.

Kautilya continued. "I am making all the arrangements for our journeys as we speak. You will ride on the fastest horses there are. I can not ride as fast as you or for as long as you do. I will merely ride a mean palfrey.

My friend, Radhagupta will take my place as your guide until I return. Ask for him at the gate. You must not wait for me. Listen to me! You must continue with your practice. Be ready to fight at the slightest sign of peril. Always!"

#

Some secrets were lies. Some were hidden truths. But need everything that is hidden see the light of day?

The mind is coherent and coldly calculating but not so the heart. The human heart is irrational. Turbulent. One could make rules for a person to follow. For an entire nation. But all that means naught to an unready heart. For reason does not come easily to a heart set aflame.

Chandragupta did not always choose his heart over his mind. His mind was unwavering, his will unbending, his hands firm, his eyes sharp. His heart was unfathomable but it was evident that it was not easily conquered.

When Chandragupta defeated Seleucus Nicator, he gained more than a treaty. Seleucus gave his daughter, Helena's hand in marriage to the Emperor of India along with the Greek ambassador, Megasthenes.

The ambassador had died the year before. It seemed he was fated to live on while those younger and nobler than him attained the liberation that only death could grant men.

It was through Megasthenes and his successor, Deimachus, that Kautilya learnt about Ionian history and mythology.

The wisdom and warfare of Athena. The mercurial temper of Ares. The titan that gave fire to mankind. The face that launched a thousand ships...

Helena was more Persian than Greek, owing to her heritage. Quick of wit, brazen and curious rather than timid.

After she came to the court of Pataliputra there was a celebration that lasted two weeks. Her arrival brought joy into the lives of the king and his young son. As quickly as she came into their lives, she also fashioned herself after their people and became one among them. She became the Empress. Something that had been missing for quite long.

The happiness was short-lived when a few years into their matrimonial bliss, the king decided to give up his royal privileges in favour of asceticism. Not satisfied with mere austerity, he fasted until he gave up his hold on life as well.

The kingdom went into mourning. And there was no end to the younger king's grief when soon afterwards Helena departed for her father's kingdom.

It seemed the glory of the Mauryan Empire was departing as well.

Bindusara was a mere shadow of his father. He won no wars because he fought none. He enjoyed the fruits of his own father's labours and kept peace within the kingdom. He was not evil, simply inadequate.

And Susima, a shadow of the shadow.

Kautilya knew of a certain rot that tends to set in when a dynasty survived too long. When a man is born into privilege he forgets the hard lessons of his predecessors and accomplishes very little. It was important to remake the old and begin anew as often as was possible.

Susima was a skilled warrior. He was brave and strong. But he had an eagerness in him. A penchant for violence, greed and cruelty. He was overly vain. And lacked the nobility of his grandfather and the integrity of his father. He disregarded wise counsel and disrespected the great Acharya himself. He needed to be tempered. Refined.

But only time will tell if that was enough.

#

He had never known his mother. He hoped she was kind, wise and graceful. The tales that circulated in the court spoke of the less than ideal circumstances of his birth and the death of their beloved queen. His father himself spoke little of her. And when he did, he did it in a fond remembrance of her. As though she were a half forgotten memory.

It was never enough. He longed to know his mother well but all he had were the stories and the portrait that hung in his father's old chambers. And in spite of the insistent coaxing of his ministers, the king never sought to marry again. In his heart there was place only for one.

Inwardly, Bindusara had wished the same as the ministers.

If his father spoke little about his mother, he spoke even less to him. He was trained to be a prince not raised to be a son. He was expected to rule the whole of Bharatvarsha and nothing more. Paternal affections were of no real consequence in his ascension. Kingship, it was deemed, was of much greater import than kinship.

In time, the young crown prince married and had sons of his own. His surprise was great when his father married again, for the Empress of India was only a little older than him. It was to be a symbol of a political alliance between his father and the Greek General he defeated. But Helena quickly won everyone over with her youthful exuberance and kindly disposition. And there was no doubt at all that she was a queen born to rule by her husband's side. For she had also an indomitable will.

Helena was not the epitome of motherly goodness that he had envisioned, but her presence was comforting all the same.

And yet, he could not help but rejoice at the fact that she left no son to contest his claim to the throne. He would be the only heir of the great Chandragupta Maurya.

The marriage did not last long. His father decided to abandon the throne and left for the nearest monastery. And when he died, the once empress and Queen Mother became a widow. Helena stayed at the court to fulfil the rites of mourning but she departed soon after, taking more than a few traces of their companionship and leaving nothing but memories in their place.  
The whispers at the court spoke of Chandragupta long after he was gone. And it seemed to him that he never truly measured up to his father- even as a sage. Even dead. Even now.

Where his father had to wage wars and conquer during his reign, he merely had to quell minor uprisings in the kingdom. Where his father was a wartime lord, he was a peacetime leader. And where his father had earned his kingship, he was simply born into it.

Perhaps that made all the difference.

#

Asoka dreamed a little dream. Something he would not remember when he woke up. He was near the Ganges and had fallen asleep.

A woman appeared in the dream. She was ethereal. Terrifying to look at because she radiated unearthly power. Like the Sun.

_King,_ she said to him. _King._ Her words spoke to him and yet he did not hear with his ears. Rather they were in his mind. And struck at his heart.

_I am only a prince,_ he said. _I am no king._

_You will be. The Empire is before you. It is yours to take. The whole of Bharatvarsha._

_Save for Kalinga. Kalinga must fall._

_It will. Kalinga is where you will find your true path._

_Who are you, Seer? Do you live near the Ganges?_

The woman laughed.

_Nay, I do not live near the Ganges._  
_I am the Ganges._

#

Taking up arms is not the only way to defeat an enemy. Another is to sow seeds of confusion in his mind. Distract him, keep his attention diverted elsewhere and to worry him endlessly.

Not every war was won through bloodshed in a battlefield. Some were won simply by cutting off the enemies' means of sustenance. And some were won by using their secrets against them.

Kautilya was a master of subterfuge and espionage. Quite surprising for a former academic at Takshashila. But he had engaged in collecting information, both from within the kingdom and without, even when he was a mere scholar at the famed university. Information was everything. Especially the kind that only a few knew. And secrets could even teach you great things. It could even topple an empire.

The fall of the Nandas was orchestrated single-handedly by the great Kautilya. He had a young, eager student in Chandragupta whom he taught the art of war, justice, administration and economic policy-making. Everything that a king would want to know and more.

Kautilya was a young idealist himself when he decided to use his skills for the glory of the capital city. Many would think that an intelligent, honest scholar would stay away from the nuances of politics. However, Pataliputra had the power to turn any idealist into a realist. And in order to survive the harsh realities of managing a nation, one often had to resort to political manoeuvres.

Very soon he realised that the only way he could mend the broken kingdom, protect it from the excesses of those in power and save it from total destruction was to completely overthrow the current royalty. And it did not help that he was made a mockery by the then king.

With Chandragupta on his side, Kautilya went on to acquire and mobilise an army. They learnt from the battle tactics and strategies of Alexander the Great himself. But where Alexander failed, they would win.

The placement of Chandragupta Maurya on the throne was simply an affirmation of Kautilya's beliefs and a statement of their combined powers. Kautilya was the kingmaker. The power behind the throne. The whispers in the king's ears. And if he knew how to unmake a king, he also knew full well how to make one.

But Chandragupta was more than just a willing slave. He was a benevolent despot. A conqueror. Kingdoms fell before his military might and he added to his conquests Takshashila, Pattala, Kandahar, Suvarnagiri and Kundina. Magadha of old had expanded.

It was of equal import that he was a patron of art and knowledge. The great school of Takshashila, renowned across the world as centre of enlightenment long before he came to power, flourished during his reign. And messengers were sent to the region of Nalanda to find more scholars.

From beyond the sea and across the mountains trade prospered and travellers came to pay their respects to the potency of the Empire. And so it would continue.

Radhagupta prided himself on being noble and loyal. But his loyalty, unlike that of Kautilya, was neither to the throne nor to the kingdom but rather to Kautilya himself.

It had been a month and a half since his last correspondence with the acharya. There had been no other message. The plan was set in motion and everything was highly secretive from that moment. For all he knew, the great master was waylaid and ambushed in his return journey.

But he comforted himself in the knowledge that the journey was long and arduous. It was a much longer route of more than a thousand miles. Even with the fastest horses, it would be tedious.

Asoka had arrived much sooner. Had it not been for the seal that he carried, he would have been turned away at the gate. The boy had grown and not just in his stature. He had the manner of a seasoned soldier.

It would have aroused suspicion to find the younger prince missing in the midst of the arrangements. His long absence had been explained away. The prince had been hunting with the nobility of Kundina when he had sustained a slight injury and needed time to recuperate. Asoka was wont to go on long expeditions by himself as his father kept a more ignorant eye on him.

A lot of happenings had come to pass in the delegation to Indraprasta had split. Under the guise of reinvigorating diplomatic relations, both within and without, they advanced on Chinas, Seleucia, Kundina, Patala, Kandahar, Mathura, Varanasi, Takshashila and Samarkand.

The trade routes and the famed silk road were easily accessed from Indraprasta. A few more men had been sent towards the Royal Persian Road that began at Susa.

Rumours about Kautilya's whereabouts differed. There were accounts of him being seen in Mathura. Some spoke of his presence in Ujjain. Some said he was in the forests of Indraprasta, meditating and praying for the future of Bharatvarsha.

All were true. And yet none of them were.

There were more pressing matters to attend to. And the acharya had made it exceedingly clear that no part of the plan be contingent on his return.

Radhagupta turned away from the window.

The setting sun cast a pale orange glow in the horizon. Garuda sat in his cosy nook within the stony fort. He spread his wings and soared into the sky. He caught an air current and let himself glide. He scanned the city below and upon sighting a sparrow, dived for the catch.

#

"There is to be a tournament," said Giridhara. "A little more than a month from now. Amid dignitaries and luminaries from across the kingdom. And some from beyond borders. The Acharya means to test you in public."

"The Acharya means for me to fail in public," said Susima and rose from his seat. The chair fell back with a resounding crash. "He thinks that my failure to impress them all will finally prove that I am unworthy of being the Crown Prince.

Truth be told, he never did hold me in much regard. He would much rather groom an outsider, a pauper, and bend him to his will than see me on the throne."

The crown prince turned to Giridhara. "Your source is trustworthy?"

"It is." It had taken some costly efforts but his spies intercepted the secret message that travelled from Indraprasta to the king. Taraka had arranged for the message to pass to him. He no doubt thought he would be rewarded for it.

"My father may pour his care and attention on me but he still listens to his old, incorruptible Prime Minister," said Susima. "My father is a fool.

You have earned my trust, Amatya. When I am king, I shall rid myself of the great Chanakya and see to it that you have a place in the Council."

"Thank you, Prince." Giridhara left the Crown Prince to ruminate on the news he delivered.

A tournament on a scale hitherto unheard of. There was time enough to prepare. He would win over the crowd and secure some alliances for his future reign. He would finally triumph over Kautilya.

#

The crowds cheered for their prince as he displayed his hard earned skills. They roared as he defeated his opponents one by one.

The entire royal family was in attendance. As were the luminaries, ambassadors, envoys and kings from various cities and nations. Emissaries and kings from Vidarbha, Brahmagiri and Kundini had joined- they arrived that morning. They had all travelled a great distance to renew their alliances with Pataliputra and extend their hand in friendship. They were honoured guests of the capital. And what greater honour than to witness the debut of Pataliputra's crown prince.

Susima brandished his sword and brought it down in a wide arc. There was a clang of metal and his last challenger fell to the ground, disarmed and disoriented. Before him lay more than two dozen of the capital's finest warriors, breathing heavily. The midday sun was hot on his skin. He was tiring slowly but he still had the strength to fight a few hours more. But there was nobody left standing.

The victory was his. He looked around and saw the delight in his father's face, tears in his mother's. His half brothers were cheering for him in a corner. The kings from afar beamed down at him.

He was their king. He could feel it in veins. The pride coursing through his blood. He would be the greatest king in history. An Emperor of the world. For all roads lead to Pataliputra.

Radhagupta and Acharya Brahmagupta stood in the courtyard. The latter spoke.

"We have all seen the might and prowess of our Crown Prince. He fought four and twenty men and stands undefeated. His challengers lie disgraced and broken. I ask you now, is there anyone else who wants to challenge him? Is there anyone who thinks he is worthy to try?

Speak now or hold your silence forever!"

There was a silence in the arena as everyone waited with bated breath. Susima smiled, fully at ease. Moments passed and then Brahmagupta spoke again.

"Very well," he said, "I hereby de-"

"HALT!"

Susima turned and found an old Brahmin walking towards him. It was Kautilya. Despite his victories, Susima could not help but feel a slight tremor in his hand.

"I challenge the Crown Prince!"

Amidst his surprise and apprehension, Susima found his tongue.

"You? You, Acharya?"

"Yes."

"You know the rules of the challenge, Acharya," said Brahmagupta. "Only a kshatriya may challenge another kshatriya."

"Aye, I am well aware of it. And only a royal may challenge another royal." Kautilya looked around. "Friends of Pataliputra, kings and nobles and honoured guests," he said, his voice resonating in the arena in spite of his age. "I challenge the Crown Prince and representing me, as my champion, I present to you one who is capable of defeating Susima in this tournament and is worthy of contesting Susima's claim to the throne.

His own brother. Asoka."

He watched as his brother, Asoka arose from the stands and moved towards him. There was a heavy silence in the crowd. His father did not look pleased. This was Kautilya's own doing.

Asoka folded his hands in front of Kautilya and received his blessing. And then turned to him. He was already armed.

Susima felt fury replacing the pride in him. He glared at his acharya but prepared himself for his brother's onslaught. The crowd waited for the spectacle- for that was what a crowd wanted more than anything.

It started slow. They danced around looking for an opening. And then Asoka lunged. Big mistake. One should always wait for the opponent to attack first. Susima felt relieved. He easily blocked the blow and jumped to the side. He brought his sword down but Asoka parried it.

They moved faster. The sound of metal on metal rang through the air as they fought harder. They were seemingly equally matched and they were not tiring. And neither of them would admit defeat.

Moments later, they were both weaponless.

Susima threw his shield at his brother in anger but Asoka laughed and simply ducked. Throwing down his own shield, he waited. This time, Susima ran towards his brother. They wrestled, each trying to break the other.

And then, unexpectedly, Asoka leapt into the air. Before Susima could recover, Asoka's left feet had made contact with his throat and his right pushed against his chest. Asoka landed on the ground with the grace of a cat.

And watched as Susima toppled backwards, surprise still on his face.

Marmashastra. It could be used to disarm just as much as it could be used to kill. The victory belonged to Asoka. The crowd stamped their feet to show their approval. And they chanted his name. He had given them a show to remember. Something they had never seen before. And he had won their hearts.

Asoka watched as Brahmagupta announced his name, as Radhagupta and Kautilya called for the physicians to attend to his brother, as his father rose from his seat and stormed away.

It did not matter. His family would be won over just as the crowd had been. He walked back with his brothers who praised him and his mother who could not contain her joy.

#

There were two ways to win a debate. One was to weaken the argument of the opponent. The other was to offer a better solution. It was the same in other contexts. The kingdom had believed their Crown Prince to be the sole successor of Bindusara, the only deserving prince. Until Kautilya offered Asoka up as another claimant, probably a better one, to the throne of Pataliputra.

His work was finished. He dipped the quill in the dark ink and branded the words on the parchment. He called the ploy Divyavadana as he wrote in his book. After his death, he will live on in his treatise. His legacy. The Arthashastra.

#

Kautilya knew that the physicians at the court would not be as effectual as those in Malabar were when it came to treating an injury sustained due to the application of Marma. It was three days before Susima recovered completely.

He was still furious but also anxious. He argued with his father endlessly. Bindusara was upset over the prospect of Asoka being a contender to the throne. He could not see the possibility of his beloved first son, his heir, being supplanted by his spare. However, he could also not deny that Asoka had proved himself superior to Susima.

#

Kautilya was summoned to the court by the Emperor. Susima stood beside his father uneasily. His anger at the Acharya was only kept in check by his fear of him.

"Hail King, Bindusara Maurya, crowned at the throne of Pataliputra, ruler over all of Bharatvarsha." Kautilya bowed slightly.

Bindusara waved the formality aside. "Acharya," he said, sounding frail and weak. "Is it true that you tutored Asoka privately all these years and readied him to contest Susima when the opportunity arose?"

"It is," Kautilya said, unafraid.

"Treason," barked Susima. Kautilya ignored him and addressed the king.

"I have committed no treason, O King. You gave me powers that were second only to your own self. Is it not the duty of the Chief Advisor and Prime Minister to ensure that the heir to the throne is ready to take upon the royal duties when he ascends the throne?"

"We have an heir. It is my son, Susima," said the king wearily.

"My king, according to the law, any son may be the heir to the throne if he is found competent."

"And have you not found Susima competent? He is a king in the making."

"A king in the making, yes, but perhaps, not one who will be made king,"said Kautilya. "Asoka has proved himself more competent than even Susima."

"You talk of fairness and justice, Acharya," said Susima. "And yet you gave Asoka alone the training of Malabar. And he defeated me with this special knowledge. Is that fairness?"

"The teachers of the ancient art in Malabar do not accept every man who is desirous of the knowledge of Kalari, Young Prince. Only those that they deem safest to wield it. It is not strength alone but the restraint of it that makes a true champion. And it is restraint that you felt triumph over you three days ago." Kautilya turned to the king. "You are aware of the qualities that Asoka possesses, My King. It is not just military might that makes a king, you know this. And his very acceptance into the fabled centre is a sign that he is worthy of the throne.

He is gentle of heart, yet fearsome in a fight. He is wise and kind. He seeks to cause no harm, only to rule well and defend the kingdom. He has the spirit of the Mauryan Empire itself in him.

And yet, if further proof is required, then I would ask you to make your sons governors! Let Asoka govern Ujjain and Susima Takshashila. Good governance is a sign of true kingship."

Susima was inconsolable.

"You fool!" he cried. "You talk of gentleness and wisdom. And of unearned might. Fools!"

Bindusara said nothing. Kautilya's eyes blazed as he looked at the Crown Prince.

"Careful, Yuvraj! Has anyone ever told you what happened to the last dynasty that treated me ill? I have made a king before, and I know how to unmake one."

"Acharya," said Bindusara. "This will mean bloodshed. There are two claimants and yet there can only be one king on the throne of Pataliputra."

"Aye. Is that not the way of kshatriyas? You know full well the destiny that awaits your successor and yet you deny it.

Do not let the blindness of Dhritarashtra take hold of you, O King! Your first-born is not more important than your duty to your people. The Empire needs one who is most worthy.

Brothers will slay each other, sons and fathers will tear each other apart and out of all that bloodshed, sorrow and ashes, a new king will rise. Such is the tragedy of kshatriyas. And so it has always been.

By the sword they shall live and by the sword they shall die. The ground lies cursed beneath the feet of a kshatriya. The blood of many fallen warriors, red and glistening, cries out in agony. And yet it also beckons like the music of a siren.

I can offer you nothing but the counsel Lord Krishna granted Arjuna: our family can not be greater than our duty. So fight you must. Kill if necessary. And always for the glory of Magadha. Of Bharatvarsha."

#

Apama often sent signs of goodwill to Pataliputra. Horses and elephants carried many gifts into the capital. Some of them Persian. And she wrote letters from her abode in Seleucia on the Tigris. There would be a short message meant for the officers in the court and for the king. An affirmation of the friendship between the two kingdoms.

And there would be another, a much longer one. Meant for the eyes of just one. Like the one Kautilya held in his hands right then. Not every such message would be delivered. Some, he kept to himself if he could.

As the overseer of the affairs of the state, Kautilya was also responsible for watching the relay of messages in and out of the kingdom, those pertaining to the royal family in particular.

Some secrets were hidden truths. But not everything that is hidden need see the light of day.

He threw the scroll into the depths of the fiery hearth as though it scorched him already. And he watched it until it was reduced to ashes.

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**A/U \- Thanks for reading. This is my first entry into the mythology/history part. I understand that reading it is quite the task because it requires some knowledge of the Indian and Greek history and mythology. Even Biblical knowledge, to understand some references.**

**There is a royal secret here, if you haven't guessed it already. Something to do with the burnt letter. Who wrote it to whom and why. Keep guessing. Clue? There's a character in the story who has another name. A female one. :)**

**The work is based on the various books and resources available on Mauryan dynasty and Indian history and is a fanfiction based on them.**


	2. Chapter 2

The weary feet of the traveller took him wandering towards the river until he stopped. The man sat down heavily. The setting sun spread an orange glow on the horizon. The pale light that danced on the face of the river did not just signal the end of a day.

He could still hear the cries of death and dying in his ears. In his dreams, there was blood on his hands and sometimes in the morning he still woke up screaming. Kalinga was forever burned into his memory. It was to serve as his conscience and his measuring rod for all years to come.

The prophetic dreams had not lied. He had found his destiny in Kalinga. It was simply not the one he had imagined all along.

Just as he had ushered in the new reign of his dynasty through bloodshed, he would usher in an era of peace and justice through _dhamma_. And who would understand peace better than one who gave up on war?

It was the end of an era, the end of Asoka the Conqueror. And it was time for a new beginning. That of Asoka the Peacemaker.

He unsheathed his sword. The metal gleamed. He could feel its weight pulling at him. It had once felt like a part of his arm. Now, it felt like a disease, a rot, festering on it. It had been a tool of destruction that helped him take the lives of his enemies. And of his family as well- in the end, there had been no difference. The price of playing the part of a warrior was high and he had paid it only too willingly.

He threw it as hard as he could. It fell a great distance away, perhaps the last testament to the warrior he had been. Before his eyes, his past sunk into the depths of a watery grave. Behind him was the path that he was to tread- the path his father and grandfather had chosen and the one that he had once thought foolery. He now understood it clearly.

It took courage for a warrior to lay down his weapons and never take them up again. It was also as much an act of war, with oneself, as it was to battle your opponent in an open field. And victory over self was the ultimate conquest.

As he turned away, he hoped that history would judge him kindly. He did not see the last rays of the Sun touch the water. The strong wind that blew against its surface. A sudden shift in the currents.

The Ganges was smiling at him.


End file.
